


Knee-Deep in the Mire

by WrithingBeneathYou



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Edo Tensei, Infinite Tsukuyomi, Interrupted Sex, M/M, Madara's ill-advised bed partners, Marriage Hunt, Multi, Tobirama's ill-advised experiments, depictions of war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-10-11 10:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrithingBeneathYou/pseuds/WrithingBeneathYou
Summary: This is a collection of Founders-centric ficlets based on prompts submitted on Tumblr.1.) Madatobi (rated M)- The Infinite Tsukuyomi is a success and Madara and Tobirama share one last conversation.2.) Tobiizu (rated E)- When Izuna finally goes down, he doesn’t accept his defeat with grace. Marriage hunt.3.) Tobiizu (rated T)- Tobirama is "concerned" and Izuna is over his bullshit.4.) Hashimada (rated E)- Madara just wants to finish for once.5.) TobiTaji (rated M)- Senju Tobirama, Butsuma's exiled brother, takes up a young Hashirama as his charge.6.) Madakura (rated E)- The contract seal was never meant to be like this. (NSFW art included)7.) Madatobi (rated T)- Madara was never supposed to know about the Edo Tensei.8.) Madatobi (rated T)- Tobirama discovers the breakthrough he needed. (prologue to prior chapter)9.) Madatobi (rated T)- Maybe simply being present is enough. (excerpt from final chapter for 7 and 8)





	1. Madatobi (Rated T)- Infinite Tsukuyomi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: “Beg for mercy.” TobiMada please :D

A hot wind brings the scent of charnel from across the battlefield. In his periphery, Tobirama can see the scattered fires as no more than wavering points of light. There hasn’t been an upraised voice or the clang of steel for quite some time. 

It’s obviously over, but for the life of him, he can’t tell who won.

Out of the ambient noise, his attention catches on footsteps approaching from behind. Sandals shuffle loudly against stone, but in a smooth and measured cadence that speaks of a shinobi without need for concealment. 

Madara strides into his field of vision and sits down with care. He reaches out to caress the chakra rod piercing Tobirama’s skull, follows it down to card through his hair.

“It’s over now,” he pronounces, smile evident in his voice even if Tobirama can’t see it. “There’s finally peace.”

“And at what cost?” Tobirama asks flatly, closing his eyes against the agony of defeat. Even in this stolen body, his chest clenches and feels as if every chakra rod piercing through him is an accusation. Too slow, too weak, not good enough. The world has fallen because he lacked conviction when it mattered most.

“No cost is too high to keep our children from being sent to war. You should know that, Senju,” Madara replies.

He’s mad, Tobirama thinks. Driven insane by too many years spent in isolation with only the whispers of Black Zetsu’s machinations to keep him company. Any further comment is a waste of effort—and so he continues to lie placidly beneath Madara’s hand.

“They’re all happy now. And I’ll be joining them soon. Such a pity you can’t come see what life would have been like if you hadn’t been such a murderous bastard,” Madara says, good cheer slowly devolving into a growl. His hand clenches and twists painfully in Tobirama’s hair.

“That’s fine, though. I’ll fix what you destroyed. Izuna will live to take the hat. He’ll oversee the village and raise Konoha up to be a shining example of prosperity. Hashirama will stand at my side as the friend who never once doubted my ambition of peace. Together, we’ll abolish even the memory of war.”

Tobirama winces. He’ll never regret cutting Izuna down to save himself, but he wonders how things would have played out if he had been a little more self-sacrificing. A little less him. 

“Funny how I’m not in this ideal world,” he states dryly.

Scoffing, Madara goes back to petting his nape. 

“Oh, you’re definitely in it, Tobirama. Except this time you’ll put down your sword and beg for mercy like a dutiful brother. Hashirama will be so proud. You’ll accept my offer to court and we’ll do all of the things young lovers do. We’ll taste everything we were too busy playing at war to try. We’ll play shoji in quaint little tea shops and I’ll take you into the forest where I can unwrap your body for the first time under the stars. You’ll be so beautiful, soft and laid out for me without that hideous sneer on your face. We’ll fall together into my bed and never leave it except to attend our own wedding. Izuna will accidentally drink so much he’ll manage the impossible and out-cry your ridiculous spigot of a brother. And after that I’ll bring you home, where you belong. Life will be smooth and sweet,” he explains, upraised face turned red by the moon. He takes a moment to swallow and wet his lips.

“And you’ll use that big brain to figure out a jutsu that lets us have children—five gorgeous sons and daughters, each one sporting the best traits of us both. They’ll grow to be phenomenal shinobi and, in the end, you and I will live long enough to watch them have children of their own. We’ll spoil them even more atrociously than Hashirama and pass quietly in our sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. So yes, you have a place in this ideal world, Tobirama, even if you’ll never see it.”

Tobirama blinks rapidly and tries not to be moved. But, Madara’s words fall heavily around them, piercing to the heart of him like kunai.

“If I could but undo the past,” he admits, saying no more on the topic.


	2. Tobiizu (rated E)- marriage hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Izuna finally goes down, he doesn’t accept his defeat with grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I see a lot of people doing Uchiha (Izuna, Madara, or both) hunting Tobirama. I love it, I eat that up - but what about *Tobirama* hunting one of them? Can I have some marriage hunt TobiIzu with Tobirama hunting Izuna? If you're taking prompts? The rougher and grittier it is, the better. Thank you very much!"
> 
> **Warning for a non-con hand job.**

When Izuna finally goes down, he doesn’t accept his defeat with grace.

Several long hours spent siphoning his already taxed chakra reserves into jutsu after jutsu haven’t exactly engendered him to the thought of being screwed by his literary foil.

Sure, it was his own fault for traipsing along the border to begin with, upbeat and high on the success of a truly daunting mission. Spouting his usual vitriol probably wasn’t the best course of action either, especially when it made Senju Tobirama lower his sword arm and stare at him contemplatively. But running—running was the exact wrong thing to do.

The Senju brought up the concept of a marriage hunt to realize their brothers’ dreams, then announced his intentions formally and Izuna panicked. It was instinct to bound away through the trees.

An understandable response, but he really wishes he had the forethought to refuse just as formally first instead of slinging threats over his shoulder with abandon. 

A bit of humility would have been a lot less mortifying than  _ this _ .

Dry leaves grind into fragments beneath his cheek as Tobirama manages to sweep him at the ankle and drive him face-first into the forest floor. His muscles burn with exhaustion and everything hurts.

“Get. Off,” he chokes out, sputtering on a mouthful of detritus. Despite his desperate attempts to buck his rival off, Tobirama bears down and manages to tear a sleeve off at the seam. The cool touch of autumn air has Izuna roaring in rage with what little breath is left to him.

“Don’t touch me, Senju!” he warns. His sharingan flares wildly with only the ground to target.

Unfortunately, the threat underlying his command falls on deaf ears. The warmth of a bare palm closes over his shoulder and there’s a sudden flare of power that takes him like a bolt of electricity. The contract seal. He’s been  _ marked _ .

And just like that, everything he’s done to uphold his clan’s honor is meaningless. The countless lives he taken. The countless lives he’s saved. It was all for naught.

The Uchiha elders won’t be able to deny a claim made in Amaterasu’s sight. And if the bastard Senju thought to initiate the damned hunt in the first place, the same is likely true of his clan. It looks like Nii-san will have his stupid village after all. 

“The seal is set,” Tobirama says without inflection. His voice rumbles so close it reverberates through them both, breath smelling like field rations.

Izuna whips his face away.

“Fire’s balls, I’m going to gut you. I’m going to run you through and hang your body so high they see your pale ass from Uzushiogakure!” he rails as he uses every last iota of energy he has to push-up from the ground.

Tobirama spreads his legs wide and digs in deep. He whips his forearm around and slams it into Izuna’s locked elbows with a well-aimed strike, sending him crashing back down onto his chest. They end up in a strange simulacrum of an embrace, witnessed by no one but the eyes of the forest.

“Save your breath, Uchiha. The conditions have been met. You’re mine now and you can deal with it,” Tobirama scoffs.

“Deal with what? Getting abducted and raped? You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Hanging out at the boarder just to get your rocks off with an Uchiha,” he lashes out, grasping at straws. Though, once he says it, he realizes he might have stumbled over a kernel of truth. Tobirama was oddly prepared for something like this. His light clothing facilitates speed, not melee, and he didn’t stumble on the traditional words once.

“Not ‘an’ Uchiha,” the Senju snaps back with a slight note of petulance. “Don’t think me so undiscerning.”

And doesn’t it sting to be right.

Izuna would be a little flattered if he wasn’t pinned against the ground with his sworn enemy’s name seared into his shoulder. The only positive thing about this whole debacle is that there’s no obvious arousal where Tobirama’s pelvis rests against his buttocks.

“Great. Fantastic. You’re an asshole and a rapist with  _ taste _ ,” he retorts viciously.

That finally seems to get a rise out of his rival. Tobirama pushes up hard enough to reclaim his arm from around Izuna’s chest and violently wrenches him up by the neck. The forced arch of his spine has Izuna scrabbling to support his weight with his hands lest he succumb to the pressure of Tobirama’s bicep against his throat.

“Do you think I wanted to bind myself to a man I detest?” Tobirama hisses. “I’d sooner swallow a kunai than willingly bend over for you, Uchiha Izuna, but we’re shinobi. Sacrifices must be made to realize an end to this asinine conflict. Culminating a hunt is the least of our sins.” He punctuates his displeasure with a pointed flex of his arm.

Izuna wheezes and deactivates his Sharingan as black spots start to dance in his vision. Luckily, Tobirama relents before he loses consciousness completely. Even so, his voice is nowhere near as strong as it should be.

“Don’t lump me into this,” he pants, pausing a moment to regain his wind. “I’m not the one who pulled some ancient laundry list of conditions out of my ass to force a marriage. As far as you’re concerned, I’m as pure as the Sage’s right hand.”

Anything can be true if said with enough conviction, after all.

“Hashirama can run down and fuck my brother if they’re so hell-bent on peace,” he finishes, nearly gagging as he tries to swallow the moisture gathering in his mouth.

Tobirama tenses against him, then rears back and releases him abruptly. 

Clenching his teeth, Izuna takes the opening to shoot up to his knees, twist at the waist, and lash out with an elbow. His movements are slow and sloppy, dragged down by the weight of exhaustion, so it’s no surprise that Tobirama blocks him easily and diverts the momentum.

A palm strike between his shoulders and he’s forcibly reacquainted with the ground. 

“That’s not possible. Hashirama’s hand has been promised in union elsewhere. I’m doing what’s necessary to see his dream realized where he cannot,” Tobirama explains in a clipped tone. His strong thighs bracket Izuna’s legs. A grunt of effort is all it takes to insinuate an arm under Izuna’s hips and hoist him bodily onto all fours. 

“Shit.”

The imagined toll of warning gongs go off in Izuna’s head, drowned out only by the staccato beat of his heart. For all of his cleverness and tactical clout, there’s no getting out of this, he realizes. His chakra is mostly depleted, his explosive tags long since deployed kilometers away. Even his well-honed strength has abandoned him.

It’s been nearly a decade since he’s lost a grappling match, his powerhouse of a brother included. To fail when the stakes are this high is unconscionable. But, the callous-rough fingers hiking his mantle up and slipping under the front of his trousers to take his flaccid cock in hand bring the truth of his defeat to bare.

Sage damn all Senju and Tobirama in particular.

Despite himself, he can feel the familiar stirrings of arousal as the White Demon fondles him. It’s nothing but his body’s betrayal to mechanical stimulation—and he’s had more than his share of honeypot missions to make this more embarrassing than traumatic—but it still rankles. 

Falling in battle would at least allow him to retain his dignity. Having his cock rise for Senju-fucking-Tobirama is something else entirely.

“I don’t give a shit what ancient laws or semantic mind games you want to play, you’re not sticking your dick in me, Senju,” he announces, twigs cracking under his white-knuckled fists.

A soft curl of breath heralds the heat of Tobirama’s lips against the back of his neck. There’s nothing soft about the kiss. Izuna translates the mockery plain and clear, and  _ seethes _ .

“I don’t intend to,” Tobirama states, calm and cool as if he wasn’t kneeling in the dirt while stroking his most hated enemy to hardness.

“So, what, you plan to bend over for me? Swallow that Senju pride and let an Uchiha fuck you bloody?” Izuna is too breathless for the image to settle with any significant impact.

Tobirama scoffs and drags his teeth along the prominence of Izuna’s spine, just at the juncture of his neck and shoulders. There’s a very clear warning there.

“As if you could. I think we’ve already proven that you don’t have the stamina for it,” he jibes as he gives a particularly firm stroke. “Regardless, this is enough to complete the seal.”

Izuna can’t help it—he moans before he can clamp his jaw shut and swallow the sound. The warmth of Tobirama’s palm rolls his foreskin down just as a slender thumb sweeps through the well of precome gathering at his tip.

He’s sheathed his sword more often than his cock, but only just barely, and here he is about to spill in his own trousers after a little heavy petting. Not even a skilled hand job at that.

The fumbling touches are—loath as he is to admit it—working him to climax quick enough to give credence to Tobirama’s claim.

Fuck.

“I hate you so much,” he says, sharpening his teeth on each syllable. 

Tobirama’s derisive snort is warm against the shell of his ear.

“I loathe you as well,  _ husband _ ,” he retorts, drawing out the title.

“You  _ asshole _ .”

Izuna arches his spine and rocks back. If he can’t fight, he’s at least going to tarnish Tobirama’s frigid façade and put a flush of embarrassment on those pale cheeks. Except, still, there’s no arousal pressed against him. No matter how he grinds and ruts, nothing.

“Don’t bother,” Tobirama commands, “I don’t find pleasure in taking by force. Particularly not you.”

And isn’t that something. Izuna isn’t quite sure what to think about that little glimmer of honor embedded in this shit-heap of a marriage hunt. That’s something he’ll have to ponder later.

Without warning, Tobirama drops back into a splayed seiza with Izuna’s thighs trapped between his own. He wraps his free arm around Izuna’s arms and chest like an iron band, stroking him in earnest. Izuna’s hips buck up and shove deep into the vice of his fist on instinct.

His eyes flutter. He tries his best to hold them open, gnashing his teeth and thrashing to stave off the orgasm looming just at the edge of his vision. It’s pointless, though. Tobirama presses him relentlessly with more determination than skill.

And, surprisingly, it’s enough.

The rising release crests—hovering just at the edge of possibility—then suddenly slams into him like a Suiton jutsu. He screws his eyes shut and screams silently to the canopy as spurt after spurt of come spills against the inside of his pants.

Tobirama continues to stroke him well past the point of comfort. He holds Izuna still and wrings him dry as he gasps and squirms, choking on sharp little ‘ah’s.

“It’s done,” Tobirama says, not unkindly.

Izuna nods then drops his head back against a firm shoulder. It’s all he can do at this point.

As the lethargy of satisfaction starts to settle in his already tired bones, he can feel the thrum of Tobirama’s chakra taking up space beneath his own skin. It’s oddly comforting, not cold or off-putting at all—not that he would ever admit it.

They sit in the middle of the copse of trees surrounded by dappled sunlight. A light wind picks up, but other than the swaying leaves, everything is still. Tobirama finally reclaims his hand, wiping the tacky come off on Izuna’s thigh.

Izuna doesn’t even react. This strange afterglow is worth affecting a bit of self-control if he gets to stay here to listen to the strong beat of Tobirama’s heart as his own falls in sync. Marriage hunts aren’t specific to the Senju. The Uchiha have outdated traditions that are similar, written in dusty, ill-used scrolls.

The texts fail to describe the actual bond, though.

And it’s not as if he’s in any way happy about being run down, beat to hell, then forcibly jerked off, but there may be a tiny bit of silver lining in the contentedness that resonates through the seal.

It’s interesting if anything.

“Izuna,” Tobirama rumbles against his back.

Izuna grunts, but otherwise stays quiet and languorously sprawled. 

“Return to your clan and have your elders begin drafting the Uchiha’s conditions for an armistice agreement. I will do the same with the expectation that our clan representatives will meet on neutral ground six days hence.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” Izuna mutters. Madara is going to be  _ insufferable _ .

Tobirama shifts back and makes to get up, his touch far gentler than it’s ever been between them.

“As incentive—once the armistice is in place, if your proclivities still include having me bend over for you, I will consider accommodating.”

The dry delivery is too much. Izuna bursts out laughing.


	3. Tobiizu (rated T) - Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama is "concerned" and Izuna is over his bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "For the three words meme - "Just take it" for MadaTobi? Or, if you don't like that one, "Beg for Mercy" for IzuTobi."
> 
> How about “Just take it” for IzuTobi, because I apparently have no reading comprehension! lmao

“Get away from me, Snowflake. I’m not taking whatever crazy mess you’ve come up with,” Izuna rails as he wearily watches his Senju pain in the ass stalk closer. It’s been fifteen minutes now and resistance is more a point of pride than anything at this point.

Tobirama snarls and lunges, trying to grab Izuna’s wrist, but snatching the trailing end of his obi instead. He holds onto his hard-won prize and tries his best to reel the intractable Uchiha in one-handed.

For his part, Izuna isn’t having it. He swiftly sidesteps and brings his leg up for a kick with enough power behind it to crush ribs. Tobirama deftly spins with the momentum and gets close enough to fist his hold in the folds of Izuna’s haori instead. 

“Izuna, see reason. Anija’s pollen is…” he hisses, only to be cut off by a knee to the stomach. His breath leaves him in an explosive grunt.

“I swear to the sage, if you say ‘nothing to sneeze at’ I’m going to piss on your futon,” Izuna snaps. Having an allergic reaction to Hashirama’s awful mokuton flowers is shameful enough without having the icy bastard rub it in. And regardless, they’re shinobi; Tobirama should know by now that he won’t eat or drink anything he didn’t prepare himself. 

“I was saying Anija’s pollen is particularly potent and you’ve ruined two batches of field reports with your constant rhinorrhea already. Take the damn tonic!” Tobirama roars, patience finally breaking.

Izuna fends off the flask Tobirama tries to shove in his face. “And I said I don’t trust your damn tonic!” Sick of arguing, he gives up ground between them and lets Tobirama drive him down—pinning him to the floor—in order to bring his forearm up and brace for a choke-out.

Before he can clasp his arms together and secure the headlock, Tobirama rears back and downs the entire contents of the flask. The shock of it gives pause to their grappling. Then, Tobirama darts into his space, too sudden and too fast to avoid. The blow falls as a press of lips far softer than anything Izuna could have imagined. Stunned, he gives in to the kiss, only realizing he’s been had when Tobirama deepens it and a flood of bitter tonic hits the back of his throat.

He swallows reflexively, cursing his duplicitous friend in a thousand ways. Even so, he doesn’t stop chasing every last taste of the vile concoction on Tobirama’s tongue. Some minutes later, the kiss ends with both of them panting from exertion.

“Just take it,” Tobirama murmurs as they continue to share breath, noses brushing.

“Oh, you asshole,” Izuna whispers, licking his lips. Mortified at his own traitorous body, he shoves Tobirama to the side so hard he rolls and staggers up to his feet. “You’re an absolute bastard,” he yells over his shoulder as he adjusts himself and storms across the room.

The shoji screen slams open so hard the frame buckles.


	4. Hashimada (rated E)- Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara just wants to finish for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "'Is that smoke?' HashiMada? :D"

Madara bites his knuckles to smother a groan, moisture beading on the leather of his glove with every panting breath. The divine vice wrapped around his cock is geared specifically to his pleasure, each swipe of tongue skilled in the easy alacrity of familiarity. Hashirama’s fingers claw into his buttocks and the breadth of his shoulders spreads Madara’s thighs wide—so wide.

There’s a loud boom from somewhere outside of Hashirama’s room, but Madara doesn’t care enough to investigate. He’s too caught up in the bright pulse of pleasure that has his toes curling and his Sharingan flickering uselessly.

It comes as a surprise, then, to have that sweet, fire-hot mouth pull off of his cock with a pop. The loss tears a desperate moan from deep in his chest.

“Hey, what was that?” Hashirama asks, looking towards his door and licking an errant string of saliva from his lips.

Madara has no time for whatever fresh nightmare Tobirama has concocted down the hall. And his cock sure as hell can’t wait. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he pants, fisting his other hand in Hashirama’s hair and guiding him back down to where he’s hard and wanting.

Hashirama shrugs and takes him down to the root with a happy hum and absolutely no gag reflex to speak of. His hands are the only thing that keeps Madara from coming off of the bed as he arches.

“Hashi! Oh, fuck, just like that, you gorgeous, overgrown tree,” he calls out, not caring any longer if the suppression seals can match his volume. As Hashirama continues to take him apart, Madara’s eyes begin to water—though he’s not sure if it’s the power of his impending release or the sudden acridity in the air.

Just as the coil in his gut threatens to snap and send him flying into the most powerful orgasm of his life, Hashirama pulls back once more.

“Ok, but, is that smoke?” he asks, blinking slowly.

“No! It’s not!” Madara roars, choking on a plume of ash.


	5. TobiTaji (rated M) - In Times of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Senju Tobirama, Butsuma's exiled younger brother, takes up a young Hashirama as his charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "'Let’s go home' for Hashirama and Tobirama"
> 
> **Background, Tobirama is Butsuma’s brother and of his generation.**

A sharp, southern wind blows and brings with it the scent of charnel. Firelight blooms bright and fearsome in the distance, roaring like a beast and consuming with equal measure.

These battles have raged on for far too long—decades of pointless bloodshed without an end in sight. Tobirama had once thought himself a critical component in ensuring the defeat of the Uchiha alongside his brother’s capable command, but people change. Ideals change. In this, Tobirama himself proved to be as shifting as the suiton he so favors.

He watches the strangely beautiful panoply of color as it illuminates the tree line, then ducks his head and turns from the skirmish. The Senju will survive, or they won’t. His brother, Butsuma, has always been a stalwart force. Tobirama suspects the clan will be fine. Snow flurries gather on his lashes and scour the unexpected warmth of emotion from his skin. It’s better this way, being alone and steeped in the perpetual chill of the mountains. He was never meant to feel. For the future, for his family, for the familiar touch of an enemy—none of it.

Apathy is the only land he’s been given dominion over.

He embraces it fully.

Tomorrow he will descend upon the killing grounds alongside the carrion birds and scavenge what he can to sell or barter for salt. For now, he absently pulls his gloves up over the red, shackle-like tattoos on his wrists and folds back into the night.

***

Morning comes, as blindingly bright and promising as each one before.

Tobirama stirs in the warm pocket of his pallet and slowly peels away the layers of fox and moon bear pelts. His palms stick to the glossy, black fur and—despite knowing full well that allowing himself to sweat in the night could spell hypothermia come morning—snaps them back abruptly to face the chill. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of the cool draft. It’s bracing, this reminder that he is not a ghost no matter what the local villagers may claim. Though, he’ll become one quickly enough if he doesn’t move.

Silently, he tucks his pallet back into order and readies a small fire by rote. He dots the lingering perspiration from his brow and takes the opportunity to wipe his body clean with a rag made damp by snowmelt. The fire continues to crackle towards the mouth of his grotto, cheerful and blessedly warm.

Everything in his life has become a steady sequence of events, linear and predictable. He no longer worries about the days to come, and no longer wastes time remembering the days that have passed. He rises with the sun, applies a thick paste of coal and animal fat under his eyes to stave off the snow blindness, and stalks the forest like a yūrei until dusk draws him back.

It’s a simple, unfettered existence.

There were nights, long ago, when he would rage against the wrongs done to him—clawing at the tattoos on his wrists and face gifted to him upon exile for his crimes of passion. Butsuma’s derisive sneer and the echoes of his last words (“Uchiha Tajima? Really, brother? I thought you had better taste than that.”) had haunted him for years. But Tobirama has since moved past those dark times.

Now there is only the mountain.

He readies himself for an extended trek to yesterday’s battlefield. In addition to the layers of stained, white linen, he dons his most well-worn boots and drapes a fox-fur mantle over his shoulders. With his long hair and unkempt beard, he knows he looks for all the world like an emaciated snow bear.

It’s fitting considering he has about as much bite.

The wind buffets his coat as soon as he takes that first step into the snow. It’s slow going for the first leg of his journey, but Tobirama only had to step into unexpectedly deep snow drift once to learn that an easy pace and a well-used cane were invaluable assets. It’s midmorning by the time he clears the foothills and takes in a deep breath of less harsh climes.

The warmth is always a stark reminder of the world that continues to turn despite his absence.

He perfunctorily sheds the outer layers of his clothing and stows his gear in a gnarled tree trunk. A brilliant thrum of chakra activates the seal on the tree’s bole and Tobirama collects his foraging sled from the small pocket dimension that gapes wide.

Idly chewing on a piece of deer jerky, he begins jogging towards the overwhelming scent of death as the sled bounces behind him on its skids. The site of the most recent clash between Senju and Uchiha is as foul as one would expect.

Bodies lie in sporadic intervals across a field of grass that may have once been green, but now boasts the same rust red that seems to permeate even the dirt. The heavy smell of copper and looming bloat thickens the air with more than just flies. Hands long since gone stiff in their death throes clutch at wounds and weapons alike.

It aches as it always does to witness of the nightmares that only men can call forth. The predators of the forest are far kinder in their mercies, Tobirama thinks.

He abandons his sled in a dry patch of dirt and carefully picks his way through the wash of blood and gore. The mud sucks at his boots and tries to draw him down with each step far more insidiously than the snow. An occasional Uchiwa standard flaps at him accusingly, but their numbers seem to be far outweighed by the broken backs of the Senju they’re moored in. Dull, sightless eyes watch him without blinking from faces slack in repose or shiny with small blisters. The shape of their names hangs on his lips once, never to be spoken again.

Their suffering tells a story. This skirmish was a rout for the Senju with no time to collect the dead. He’s not sure how to feel about that, so instead he resolves to feel nothing.

Swallowing past the thickness in his throat, Tobirama steps past the hands that reach for him and continues to scope out his prospects.

The abandoned corpses don’t give up nearly as hefty of a bounty as they once did. The armor is thin from regular repair and the swords brittle with the hallmarks of poor re-forging. Even his own self-made boots are sturdier and with less wear in the soles than his erstwhile clan-mates’ sandals. There’s signs of depleted coffers in every dented cuirass.

War is costly, particularly when peace could have been had for the rather negligible price of compromise.

Regardless, Butsuma was always the more prideful between them. For all the time Tobirama spent murmuring sweet dreams of a shared village against Uchiha Tajima’s lips, an accord would never have been feasible with the current Senju head. He thinks they both knew that, even then.

Butsuma is a shrewd, callous man, ever their father’s son. Past wrongs give him purpose and hone his blade. Though he claims love for his clan and the people that constitute its backbone, he has always been steeped in a personal vendetta generations-deep.

Tobirama shakes his head and continues to breathe through his mouth.

There’s nothing to be had here. Even the meat of slayed summons isn’t fresh enough to butcher and preserve properly. He’ll have to double his traps if he’s to have enough goods to barter by the end of the month.

Leaping nimbly over a crumbling mound of doton, he scouts the perimeter of the field just in case he overlooked anything of note. Vultures wheel above him as the ravens loudly protest his presence as they alight on too-small bodies. The cacophony fades into background noise, barely noted over the sudden static in his ears.

Curse his brother. Curse him and damn him to the Kyuubi’s gullet.

Stomach churning, Tobirama looks away to collect himself. It takes a long moment, but he manages to grit his teeth and set about digging furrows into the land with an all but toothless water dragon. His suiton is nowhere near as powerful as it was a decade ago. Still, it suffices to dig several small graves. He traverses the field and gathers up each gangly body, stripping them of their ill-fit armor. These children are new to him—obviously having been born after he was outcast—and so he commits each of their rounded faces to memory in place of praying to their family name.

It will have to be enough for the kami.

Tears fall unimpeded, gathering in his beard. There is no reason, no excuse for this. Not history, nor pride.

Finally, he tears his eyes away from the face of a young kunoichi—no, a little girl—once the earth rolls over her. Heart heavy, he goes to retrieve the last and final burden from further up-field. A katana stands up straight and tall, marking the spot.

If there was rosiness in those rounded cheeks and life in the boy’s veins, he’d smirk at the ridiculousness of a bowl-cut in this era. Instead, he squats down and strokes the deep-chestnut hair aside to memorize the features of his face. He’s mostly androgynous in the way many ten year olds are and far too thin besides. Tobirama leans in close to get his forearms beneath the narrow shoulders, but hesitates when he notes the slight rise and fall of the child’s chest within the shroud of too-big armor.

Eyes wide, Tobirama tears at the latches with more brute strength than finesse and wrests them free. The sword embedded in the cuirass pierced straight through, but only caught a glancing blow off of the boy’s ribs. Dried blood cakes his clothing, making the wound look far worse than it is. Even so, Tobirama has to get it clean—treat it and bind it with the gifts from the mountain that takes and gives life in turn.

A further tug at the kimono reveals the telltale insignia of a member of the main line emblazoned on his left shoulder—the same that had been carved out of Tobirama’s own flesh.

His breath comes too quickly. It burns in his throat.

If he accomplishes nothing else in his lifetime, he vows to take this Senju heir to recover in the mountains and raise him to wield the trappings of kindness as viciously as any blade. Surely his brother’s son—because he can be no one else—cannot be denied his birthright as clan head. And when he is reunited with the Senju, this child can fight for peace from a position of power and standing that Tobirama himself lost.

For the first time in years, hope is a flavor worth savoring.


	6. Madakura (rated E) - Reverse Summons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The contract seal was never meant to be like this. (NSFW art included)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the drabble prompt: "'Beg for mercy,' Madakura"
> 
> And the sketch prompt: "Madakura 'Wait...YOU CAN TAKE A HUMAN FORM?'"

The contract seal was never meant to be like this. Madara had never intended to give the Kyuubi a means of reverse summoning. But, Kurama grows bored with watching the world turn through Mito’s eyes. As such, this has become a familiar game between them — fighting within the bounds of the Kyuubi’s cell until they fall into a battle of an entirely different sort, though no less violent. 

Coarse fur strokes along Madara’s spine and buoys him up just enough to change his angle in the molten body milking his cock. The drop and drag against his hips punches out a moan with each impact. He knows the dark skin sparsely dotted with orange hair is a construct, but Kurama’s thighs feel like human flesh as they rhythmically flex against him —humid and sticky with the remnants of their foreplay.

Madara struggles just to feel the strength of those wicked claws bear down on him again.

“Do you want to lose a limb?” Kurama growls long and low, blowing hot breath against his throat.

The vicious threat only makes Madara toss his head back and thrust his hips up sharply, trying to chase that promise of pain. “As if I would allow you to take it,” he ripostes, despite being well and truly outmatched.

A throaty rumble resonates the air around them with the force of Kurama’s laughter.

“I swear, you’re the most conceited, vexatious human I’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with. I would devour you if not for the sour taste that would linger,” he says, punctuating his statement with a snap of elongated incisors a hair’s breadth from Madara’s nose. 

“You’d choke,” Madara scoffs, grinning with just as many teeth.

Kurama’s furious pistoning slows. Snorting derisively, he leans in and meets Madara halfway in a kiss just as ferocious and all-consuming as their skirmishes. His tails—more sinuous than a typical kitsune’s—rearrange Madara’s position more to his liking.

Pinpricks of raw chakra blanket them in a wash of power as Kurama allows his aura to grow.

It thickens the already wet air between them and Madara can’t help but put the lie to his standoffish bravado by moaning. The steadily winding coil in his loins threatens to send him cresting into a premature orgasm. Fortunately, he manages to break the kiss and find a small sliver of restraint by turning to bury his teeth in Kurama’s closest tail.

Kurama rewards his body’s honesty, smirking and riding him faster. He plants his fists and feet on the floor to add a powerful roll of his hips to each rapid descent. It’s pleasure, and pain, and shame all at once, and Madara can’t seem to stop himself from answering the summons every time. 

Grunting into his mouthful of fur, he spreads his knees so wide he feels the stretch of it in his groin and rocks under their combined weight. His breath leaves him with every clench of liquid heat around his cock. But, it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t technically have to breathe in order to fight for every centimeter of traction in that fire-bright body.

His scrotum tightens. His toes curl. His jaw falls slack in complete and utter abandonment.

Then, just like a pail of cold water, Kurama’s claws wrap around the base of his cock and dams the flow of his impending release.

“With as lippy as you’ve been, I don’t think you deserve that just yet,” the Kyuubi says, all bloodied smirk and Puckish delight.

“I think you should beg for mercy.”


	7. Madatobi (rated T) - Edo Tensei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara was never supposed to know about the Edo Tensei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Don't touch that!" Tobimada/madatobi? 💙
> 
> A/n: I have an AU where Tobirama brings back Izuna as a gift for Madara, an enticement to keep him from leaving the village. The only thing is, Tobirama discovers that Madara is the one to have murdered Izuna for his eyes. In the actual fic, Madara never finds out about the ET, but I wanted to see what it would be like if he did. >:D

“How did you find me?” Tobirama asks, eyes wide and shoulders tense. He slaps Madara’s hand away from the iron handle at the entrance of a small, hidden cabin and looks wildly out into the forest, wondering how he could possibly have been tailed. Madara shifts his weight—snow crunching underfoot—and exhales a long trail of condensation.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time away recently, even outside of your duties. I don’t take kindly to being ignored, and you’re not the only sensor, here, Tobirama,” he says, voice as cold as the winter around them.

Tobirama winces.

This conversation parallels the one he had with Hashirama and Butsuma so long ago. It tears open old wounds and he can’t think of anything to say to control the fall-out. When Madara dives for the handle again, Tobirama intercepts him with his body.

“Don’t touch that! If you love me as you say, you will stand back and leave this place,” he pleads, too frightened to care about poise or cleverness.

Madara abruptly catches Tobirama by the waist and hauls him in, kissing him fiercely—it’s passion and anger as potent as the fire he calls forth in battle. In that moment, Tobirama thinks that maybe his entreaty will have been enough. Maybe this can still be salvaged.

“We’re not children. I may have feelings for you, but I also know you well enough not to trust you entirely,” Madara pulls back to snarl before diving in once more and slamming them into the door so hard it shudders.

The admission stings, but Tobirama packs it away to deal with later, as he always does. Odd how his hurts continue to compound and ‘later’ never seems to come. Keening from a wound too deeply felt, he buries his fists in Madara’s hair and meets him in kind, matching every fervent drag of lips.

“Madara, please,” he murmurs between panting breaths.

Madara bites his lower lip just hard enough to ache, then gives him one long, baleful stare and pulses his chakra to release the wards behind them.

Tobirama panics. He claws into the fabric of Madara’s haori and tries to pull him away from the door with strength born of adrenaline and more powerful for it. But, his husband is stockier, more thickly muscled, and built for grappling. He digs in deep and flings Tobirama over his hip and into the hard-packed snow. Incensed, Madara follows him down, Sharingan spinning to life.

“The Edo Tensei,” Tobirama gasps as the air leaves him on impact. He wheezes and mouths fruitlessly at the air, only managing to find his breath a second before Madara’s forearm slams into his chest like an iron band.

“I did it for you, koibito. I didn’t know!”

“Didn’t know what?” Madara snaps, too angry to truly listen.

Tobirama swallows heavily and grasps his husband by the wrists, whether to throw him off or anchor him in place, he’s not sure. He meets the swirling tomoe for the first time in all of the years they’ve been together and prays that this show of submission will startle him enough to ignore the cabin—to realize there’s been no clandestine affair or other such nonsense, and to leave well enough alone.

“I’ve been trying to send him back but—I had no idea you—” he continues, voice strained.

Before he can organize his thoughts well enough to explain the situation, the heavy oak door of the cabin swings open. In the doorway stands the silhouette of a man back-lit by a cheerfully roaring hearth and blanketed in the smell of home.

“Oh, hey, Nii-san. Nice eyes you’ve got there. Did you miss me?”

Izuna.

Madara gapes in horror as he turns his stolen eyes to watch the reanimated manifestation of all of his sins waggle his fingers in greeting.

“Because I certainly missed you.”


	8. Madatobi (rated T)- Edo Tensei prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama discovers the breakthrough he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JKbat was interested in the AU that spawned the previous chapter of the Tumblr prompt fills, so here is the first chapter of it. 
> 
> In this AU, Tobirama and Madara are married and have been for years. Sensing that Madara is pulling away from him and the village, Tobirama brings back Izuna as a gift, an enticement to keep him from leaving. The only thing is, Tobirama discovers that Madara is the one to have murdered Izuna for his eyes. In the end, he receives some good advice and winds up sending Izuna back to the Pure Lands with Madara none the wiser.

Tobirama looks down at the spread of seals and poor penmanship before him, brow furrowed.

The brush wavers as he picks it up and places it back on the table several times in quick succession. It’s not that he’s a moral man, far from it. This hesitation doesn’t stem from any question of ethics or rightness.

Every elegant line and whorl of the Edo Tensei’s main seal holds a power that supersedes those things.

It’s just, for all his vaunted intelligence, he can’t seem to figure out how to navigate the labyrinthine problem posed by the requirement of blood. There’s no circumventing it.

“Curse all Uchiha and the fiery pit they spawned from,” he mutters under his breath, finally leaning back on his stool and stretching out the stiffness in his spine.

The late autumn sun filters in through an open shoji screen, forcing a retreat to some of the crispness in the air. He watches the maple leaves flutter like variegated flames and curses Madara’s clan once more.

“Ridiculous.”

Ink wells clatter as he shoves back from his desk and begins pacing.

The Uchiha have always favored their clan’s elemental proficiency to the exclusion of all else. That they would incinerate their dead—and all of the deceased’s affects with them—is only natural, but the practice complicates things.

As admirable as that efficiency is, Tobirama wishes that they could at least preserve something, anything of their erstwhile relatives for him to use.

A trickle of light reflects off of the small, red vase on his desk—a gift from Hashirama’s Uzumaki bride—and brings to mind a vivid image of Izuna’s wicked, blood-stained grin in those last moments.

Tobirama rocks as he stops abruptly and screws his eyes shut, tilting his head back and breathing deeply of the smell of tatami mats. Behind his eyelids, Izuna’s long hair fans out. 

There was always a fluid grace to the man that in another life would have been arresting. But, as things stood in the midst of the clan wars, there was never any time to consider that lithe proficiency as anything other than a portent of death.

Their clashes were nothing short of harrowing, even if there was a certain amount of enjoyment to be had in the challenge. Each skirmish was a tossup as to whether one or the other would end up eating folded steel. 

In the end, Tobirama’s cold pragmatism and innovation won out.

He exhales heavily and returns to his desk, allowing his face to sink into his upturned palms.

If only there had been something left behind of his foil. A blood fleck on a sword. A swath of stiff fabric turned brown with age. Something, anything.

If only the Uchiha would bury their thrice-cursed dead like the rest of the modern shinobi world instead of setting their spirits loose in the hopes they will soar to the Pure Lands on wings filled with fire-wrought thermals.

Tobirama freezes. His eyes widen as he stares ahead, unseeing.

That’s it. 

Scrolls spill onto the floor as he hastily shuffles through piles of rice paper in search of an unused sheet.

Izuna’s favored summons was some kind of bird of prey, he recalls. On the eve of battle, he would often sense the creature scanning the battlefield and skirting through the Senju lines at Izuna’s behest—a bright flare of chakra rocketing above them.

With quick, sure strokes, he fills out the silhouette of the raptor’s wings, then begins to transcribe his memories in earnest. The bird quickly takes shape on the paper, accompanied by a prodigious amount of ink splatter.

“White,” Tobirama states, voice strong and loud in the quiet of his home, “with an underlying pattern of rust on the coverts. Possibly black.”

He taps the end of his brush against his lips. “Sharp, piercing call—no, a whistle.”

It only takes two mangled attempts at reproducing the sound to give it up all together. Regardless, he’ll know if he hears it.

An hour later, he sprinkles a final smattering of sand onto the page and revels in the bloom of warmth that has more to do with success than shifting sunbeams. 

It will take time, but he now has a means of obtaining Uchiha Izuna’s blood for a successful revival. A sample from the signature on the summons contract will be enough.

Subconsciously, Tobirama’s smile broadens and takes on a familiar shape as the memory of a sharp, mocking voice rises up in challenge.

This is it.

Izuna will return.

Tobirama will make amends.

And Madara—

Madara will stay.


	9. Madatobi (rated T) - Edo Tensei excerpt from final chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe simply being present is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Tumblr prompt: "Madatobi, 'Look at me!'"
> 
> A/N: The prompt inspired me to write another snippet from that AU where Tobirama brings back Izuna as an enticement to keep Madara from leaving the village, only to discover that Madara is the one to have murdered Izuna for his eyes in the first place. After having a frank discussion, Tobirama releases Izuna’s spirit from the Edo Tensei and tries to implement his suggestions.

“Madara,” Tobirama calls out as his husband goes to leave.

Madara pauses in the doorway and turns back, one hand on his hip, looking for all the world like a ghost from eras past. There’s a tanto resting against the small of his back and a brace of kunai disrupting the line of his kimono. Even in peace, men like them can never let their guard down. 

It’s amazing that Tobirama was ever allowed so close. 

“Yes?”

“It’s not in my nature to be forthright regarding my feelings,” he begins, closing the space between them. “But I want you to know that I care for you deeply. I cannot imagine a life without you in it.” There’s a thickness in his throat and a moisture building in his eyes that keeps him from saying more.

In an instant, Madara is before him, looking up with narrowed eyes and holding Tobirama steady by the elbows. “Tobirama, did something happen?”

The question burns through him like a too potent alcohol and settles just the same. He closes his eyes and leans forward to let his husband take some of his weight. The coarseness of Madara’s hair is a pleasant itch against his forehead.

“I love you, husband. Nothing has happened to change that fact. It’s simply been a taxing day,” he admits, speaking in half-truths as he always does. It’s a habit that will have to change in the future if they’re to stay together. Perhaps one day he’ll even be able to tell the story of reviving Izuna—of taking a dead man’s words to heart and learning what it means to be human. Though, that’s impossible right now with the taste of incense on his lips and the weight of too many secrets in his soul.

Madara hums suspiciously, but doesn’t press further. “Then you should come home,” he says as if the solution to all of their problems really is that easy. And perhaps it is. Tobirama buries his face in Madara’s neck and breathes deeply of the scent of the tallow soap they share.

“I would very much like that,” he concedes quietly. The softness of his touch as he wraps his arms around Madara’s waist echoes that capitulation. “I will be shutting down my lab for the foreseeable future, koibito. I have been remiss in my duties as a husband and brother, and I was reminded today that I should be focusing on the world we have made instead of those that are possible.”

He thinks of Izuna’s eyes, black like inkwells, and fists his hands in Madara’s haori. Tears finally break free for the first time since Kawarama. He savors their alien burn and gives all of that vulnerability to the one man who has unerringly stood by his side for the past seven years. The man he almost lost in his ignorance. 

“Tobirama?” Madara says, concern clear in his upraised voice. He tries to pull back, but Tobirama holds him tighter and shakes against his chest, finally letting loose a single, heart-wrenching sob. That one lapse of control opens the sluice gates and he finds himself pouring out what feels like every single hurt he’s ever accrued. Despite the pressure pounding in his skull, it’s cathartic and good in a way he never could have imagined. 

Madara crushes him in his embrace and strokes his hair, crooning ridiculous words meant to comfort, even if he’s not very good at it. They slowly sink to the floor, a tangle of limbs, and Tobirama can’t help but laugh through his tears.

“You’re awful at this,” he croaks, hiccupping around a smile. There’s a fire-hot kiss pressed to his forehead, and another to his lips. He knows he must taste like salt, but that doesn’t stop Madara from imparting his affections across every available stretch of skin.

“You’re not supposed to cry. How am I supposed to know how to handle this?” Madara retorts, sounding lost. Tobirama sniffles loudly and pushes up to take Madara’s mouth in a dance both bittersweet and slow. He breaks away to suck in a desperate lungful, and returns to measuring the weight of Madara’s tongue against his own.

They stay like that until Tobirama’s anguish runs dry—holding each other and kissing languidly on the lab floor, not ten paces away from the remnants of a corpse more familiar with the truth of living than either of them.

“I love you,” Tobirama repeats once he’s regained some control over his grief. “I would give anything to keep you here.”

His admission punches a sharp exhalation from Madara, makes him curl in close.

“Look at me, love. I’m not going anywhere. I have no idea where this is coming from, but strike it from your mind. Unless we fall in battle, I will be with you always.”

“And even then?”

“And even then.”

Perhaps Izuna was right.

Maybe simply being present is enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic and art prompts are opened periodically on <https://writhingbeneathyou.tumblr.com/>


End file.
